science fiction, satire & sundry monkeyjoys
Bob was not a happy cyborg.
He’d had to skip his plasma bath and neural detox that morning because his dick of a boss, a narcissistic self-sustaining photosynthetic artificial intelligence named Todd, needed him to come to work early.
Comments closedLong before Enrico Fermi questioned why there was no sign of advanced species visiting Earth – despite the vastness of the universe and the likelihood…
Comments closedBy mid-century, all the grumpkins agreed: robots were the shit. Even the most hardened humano-mechanicals were aware their robotic cousins could kick their asses. And…
Comments closedAn Open Letter to Town Council Dear Councillors: Your town may have an emergency plan, a development plan, a health plan – it may even…
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